They Did It To Themselves
by Don't-Deserve-To-Be-Saved
Summary: Sometimes their death was brought about by their own hands. WARNINGS: Character deaths and pure angst!


Andy told the Winchester boys that he had seen them in heaven several times before. He explained that the angels needed them for their plans, so they were always resurrected. After being brain-bleached, of course. Neither man asked for details, assuming that they were constantly being murdered; for that Andy was grateful. He didn't want to be the one to tell them that sometimes it wasn't monsters or hateful hunters that ended their far from picture perfect lives.

Sometimes their death was brought about by their own hands.

OOO

Sam was numb. There was no depression, no rage, no hate. There wasn't anything to keep him alive. No revenge, no motive, no brother. Sam looked around the empty motel room, thinking about Dean and what he would say. He would probably looked at Sam and just remind him he was a freak. He always had been and always will be. In the far corners of Sam's mind he knew that Dean would never say that to him, and if he did he didn't mean it. Sam ignored it. He toyed with the gun in his hands. When he was with his big brother things seemed less hopeless. But Dean and Sam had split up for a week so they could stop more monsters. Things were fine between them for the first time in a long while. Yet Sam was alone and numb with nobody to keep him anchored. Here in the dark it was easier to believe that he wouldn't be missed. He wanted it to be easy. He didn't want to fight anymore. He was just _so_ fucking tired.

Maybe Sam shouldn't have drank so much after he killed the three demons in some empty (now very bloody) warehouse. Sam Winchester simply could not drink when he was as emotional as a pregnant woman. Especially when he was alone. He looked back at the gun. It was just too easy to do it now. What was holding him back? Dean was so cautious around him, constantly afraid he would truly become worthy of being Lucifer's vessel and start murdering people left and right. Bobby was equally as nervous around him. At least Castiel didn't try to hide how he felt about Sam being the Devil's meat suit. He was never loved, never wanted by anybody. Once again there was a small voice telling him that he was being ridiculous. His brother had sold his soul for him and Bobby loved him like a father. And Cas... well, Cas was just Cas. Sam also ignored this.

He gulped down the last of his vodka. Noticing it was empty he tried chucking at the wall. Sam was too drunk to throw it that far, but smiled to himself when it shattered on the tile floor. Deciding that he needn't leave some sappy note behind, Sam Winchester brought the gun to his temple.

Just before pulling the trigger he whispered, "Bang."

His body went limp, the blood started to leave his head and seep into the not so white motel sheets.

The next thing he saw was an old friend with a mullet and a pack of beer for the two of them to share.

OOO

Dean didn't know what he was doing anymore. He didn't know what he was fighting for or if what was even worth it. He didn't know if saving the world was even possible anymore. Lucifer walked freely and the angels didn't even try to stop it. It was fate, they said. Destiny. God's great plan. Dean thought that God could just suck it. The only thing Dean was sure of was that he had to stick around for his baby brother. He had to look out for him; that was his only job. His only responsibility. Dean didn't care about the end of the world, or some big angel prize fight. He cared cared about his damn family, even when they didn't want him around.

Sam had always wanted to be independent, so he tried to give him his space. They split up to cover more ground, to save more innocent lives. Dean saw that his Sammy was breaking, but that kid was born stubborn and was determined to be alone for a while. While they left on a good note, Dean could still see something more troubling hiding in his eyes. But he wasn't going to push it. Maybe he just needed time to himself. Dean could be cool with that. It wasn't as if they were married or anything.

They were just the closest brothers to ever live and both have at least tried to give up their lives for the other to live. Even if Dean was the only one to succeed. They looked out for each other all their lives. It was perfectly normal for Sam to want some time alone. And Dean could live with that.

Right?

He's driving too fast to be safe in the rainy weather and constantly curving road. He thinks about dying. It couldn't be too bad, so long as you didn't completely fuck it up. What if he just 'skidded' off the cliff? If he lived he could say it was an accident. If he died... Well, then it would still look like an accident. That wouldn't make him guilty at all about leaving behind Bobby, Cas, and Sammy. They wouldn't be burdened by the fact that he couldn't take it anymore. They didn't need to know he gave up on the world and everything good in it. It would be an accident. That was all that mattered.

Without giving it another thought, Dean the righteous man swerves of the road and dies what he thinks is the last time.

He wakes up to a woman slapping him. It's Jo Harvelle. He doesn't question why he isn't in hell and crashes his lips with hers, happy to no longer feel the world weighting down on his shoulders.

**A/N I own nothing. I wish I did, but I don't.**


End file.
